


Bruised Cosmos

by neonsign



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 22:34:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10371255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonsign/pseuds/neonsign
Summary: It’s tempting to yank his hand away but Lon’qu can’t bring himself to do it. With both of them being so busy, they haven’t seen each other all day; even this chaste touch is welcome. Their hands are so rough, callused from sword hilts or the heat of elemental spells. Neither softened outside of war.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i originally thought this was going to go somewhere else but i can't think about it anymore. if i have to type lon'qu's's's one more time i'll cry

Considering all the time Robin spends with his nose stuck in dusty books, he doesn’t seem to understand the definition of irony. The light of the campfires only highlights his pallid skin and darkens the circles under his eyes. With an armful of rolled-up maps, a slouch to his shoulders, and a smudge of ink on his cheek, he says, “You look tired. You should get to bed.”

Lon’qu stares him dead in the eye.

“I’ve been watching you,” Robin adds with a slight smile, as if that’s somehow going to shame him. “After the war council this morning you sparred with Sully, which I can only imagine was mentally exhausting for you as well as physically. Then I saw you helping Donnel hauling around that venison. You need to rest.”

Lon’qu crosses his arms. Robin raises his eyebrows.

“Right. Nice talk. Well, if you’ll excuse me. I’ll see you–”

Lon’qu sidesteps into his path. Robin tries to step around him and he does it again. They collide the third time and one of the maps falls to the ground. Robin stoops to pick it up but Lon’qu is faster and snatches it right out from under his sluggish fingers.

“Give that back,” Robin demands, holding out his hand. Then politer, “Please.”

“No.”

“What? Give it–”

Robin lunges. Lon’qu holds the map over his head. Robin tries jumping for it, but one thing Lon’qu has always had over him is height. Cherche passes by and even under a surge of anxiety Lon’qu notices her stifling a laugh. Robin clicks his tongue and stops jumping, trying to salvage whatever dignity he can as he straightens his clothes.

“Is there any particular reason you’ve decided to be difficult today?”

“I’ve been watching you too,” Lon’qu says. “You’ve been busy all day. Where are you going now?”

“I have work to do – work which you’re getting in the way of. Arrangements need to be made for the ship to Carrion Isle and I need to–”

“You need to sleep. You’re a tactician, nothing else.”

Robin’s mouth tightens and he lowers his eyes to the ground. Something about that look makes Lon’qu wonder if he said something wrong. But it wasn’t: Robin is Chrom’s tactician. It’s not his job to worry about everything else but he always does.

“We marched all yesterday,” Lon’qu continues. “Then you barely got any sleep last night.”

“And whose fault is that?” Robin snaps.

“Th-that’s–”

Lon’qu’s arm lowers in his moment of hesitation and Robin makes a successful leap for the map. As he tucks it back in with the others, taking far longer than needed, there’s unmistakable colour in his cheeks.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Thank you, I appreciate the concern, but I – you needn’t worry about me.”

They stand in silence. Most everyone else is already in their tents; the only sound is the crackling of the fires and the occasional jingle of armor from patrolling sentries. Just like last night, when it was so quiet and only a hand clamped over Robin’s mouth prevented the entire camp from hearing them.

This is idiotic. But it’s all new, whatever it is. Courting might be the right word. During the peace that followed Gangrel’s death, they both found themselves with time to spare and a fondness that still lingered, along with memories of all the battles they’d fought side by side. 

And now they stand in a silence that rings out with few words to fill it.

Regardless of gender, there’s never been much time for Lon’qu to think of these things between training and… training. Not since Ke’ri. And as for Robin, no one knows what all he forgot. Or who.

Neither of them has any experience with this, this softness and vulnerability. It’s frustrating. It’s itchy and it’s like picking off burrs only to have them hook onto your skin. Swords can’t protect you from the crawling worry. Everything builds up and pulls tight until Lon’qu feels like he’s going to snap, so yes, maybe he is being difficult. That doesn’t change the fact that Robin needs to sleep.

Lon’qu scratches his chest, more for something to do with his hand than anything else.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to prove,” he says flatly. “I thought these years of peace would be enough to ease some of your burdens. Instead you fall right back into it – if you ever stopped in the first place.”

“I did, and I got soft. The fact I hadn’t seen the signs overseas proves that.” Robin moves the maps to one arm to rub wearily at his eyes. When he lets his hand fall, he must see something on Lon’qu’s, because he reaches for it. “Your wrist is swollen.”

It’s tempting to yank his hand away but Lon’qu can’t bring himself to do it. With both of them being so busy, they haven’t seen each other all day; even this chaste touch is welcome. Their hands are so rough, callused from sword hilts or the heat of elemental spells. Neither softened outside of war. Robin drags his thumb over Lon’qu’s knuckles.

“You don’t seem to understand the definition of irony,” he says.

Lon’qu stares at him. A smile forces its way onto his face.

“Then I fear you and I are too much alike.”

“Hmph. Maybe so.” Robin brings Lon’qu’s fingers to his mouth and presses a kiss to each one, then his palm when Lon’qu cups his cheek. “If I go to bed, will you follow?”

“I will.”

Robin smiles at him, thumb against the pulse in his wrist that must tell a thousand secrets. “I’m going to go put these maps away. Meet me in my tent.”

Lon’qu nods and watches him leave. As soon as he’s out of sight, he does what he was told.

This softness and vulnerability, it’s terrifying and frustrating sometimes, but more often than not it’s the pillow he can happily rest his head against. He’s learning that strength is nothing without it.

The wait for Robin, while he sheds his layers and folds them neatly beside the bedroll, comes with that burning flicker of anticipation usually reserved for a duel. And then, later, when he falls asleep alone, much the same pain of a lost one.

 

* * *

 

Lon’qu is just one blade in their army, too unimportant to attend the meeting with the new Plegian king; he doesn’t see the hierophant who shares Robin’s face. All he sees are the effects that come after.

“I’m fine,” Robin says, predictably. He sits on a fallen tree on the outskirts of camp, dragging a stone along his sword’s blade. The river babbles beside him. “It’s not that big of a deal. So I have a twin. Everyone has a family and the world is only so large; I was bound to find mine eventually.”

“You think that’s what it is, then?”

“Yes. Why, do you suspect magic?”

Lon’qu shrugs. Magic confuses so much of the world; it would explain much.

Robin stops sharpening his blade and looks like he’s thinking for a moment. The moonlight turns his white hair the lightest blue and the tattoo on his hand, black. That tattoo, the one hint about his past that they’ve been able to uncover – that whoever he was before, he was Grimleal.

“Perhaps they were able to steal some of my being and grew their very own tactician,” Robin smiles, moving his hand so that neither can see the mark. He jests, but far be it from them to put something so unnerving past magic. “I have to admit, the way Validar was acting about it is strange. As strange as he himself. I don’t know. I’ll deal with it as it comes; that’s all I can do.”

Lon’qu rubs the back of his neck. Would that everything could be as straightforward as swordplay.

The dull drag of stone against metal cuts through his half-formed thoughts.

“It’s late,” Robin says. “Why don’t you head to bed?”

“Come with me.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think I would be able to sleep right now.”

At least he’s not lying this time. What he means is that it would be one of those nights. They became rarer in the years of peace but there are always nights where Robin grabs the nearest thing with his marked hand and holds on as if he’s afraid the ground will fall from beneath him. Nights where his teeth grind and his breaths come in shallow gasps. Mornings he wakes up exhausted and murmuring something about bad dreams.

“Then I’m staying with you,” Lon’qu decides.

“Please,” Robin says, in a voice more desperate than he ever would have predicted. “I just want to be alone right now. But I swear, I will come to you later.”

Lon’qu stares but Robin won’t meet his eye. The burr hooks itself into his skin no matter how he shakes his hand, his chest hurts with no sword piercing it, and he shakes his head.

“No. Don’t bother.”

 

* * *

 

Lon’qu wasn’t there when Robin started screaming at someone to get out of his head.

He should have been.

When they wash up on the shore of his homeland, Robin looks at his tense shoulders like he wants to say something.

Lon’qu should have let him.

 

* * *

 

“One more,” Lon’qu demands. Stahl bends double with his hands on his knees and a deep, rasping cough drags itself out of him. Whatever parts of his bedhead that aren’t plastered down with sweat sway when he shakes his head. “One more!”

“No way, that’s enough for me.” Stahl straightens up, wiping his sweaty forehead on the back of his hand and letting his practice sword fall to the ground. “Aren’t you pushing it? You’re more intense than normal.”

Lon’qu sighs and lets his eyes wander across the camp. There’s that Say’ri woman, hands resting comfortably on the hilt of her sheathed sword as she talks to Chrom and – Lon’qu averts his eyes – Robin.

“Pick up your sword, Stahl.”

“I told you, I’m done.”

“So easily? Do you intend to remain mediocre forever?”

Stahl just smiles. It’s not smug, but it’s serene in the way it says that he’s aware of the attempt at provocation and refuses to let it get to him, which is close enough. Lon’qu takes a breath and opens his mouth to say more but someone beats him to it.

“Leave him alone, Lon’qu.”

Robin stands behind him, his face expressionless but his eyes sharp enough to cut through him. All the conversations they haven’t had since the night of Validar’s mind invasion cloud the air between them. Lon’qu glares, close to telling Robin to mind his own business, but he just clicks his tongue and bends down to pick up Stahl’s sword.

Again, someone beats him to it.

One hand around the hilt, Robin’s other works at his cloak, unfastening it and tossing it off to the side. Lon’qu settles into a fighting stance. Then things will be settled this way, as they should be.

 

* * *

 

Robin’s sword clatters to the ground at the same moment Lon’qu lowers his. They stare at one another, chests rising and falling, sweat beading down their faces. It’s not clear who won or lost. That’s not the point anymore. They both know it.

 

* * *

 

“Gods, I missed you,” Robin breaths. The words tickle Lon’qu’s nape. “Did you miss me?”

Lon’qu hides his face in the crook of his elbow. There’s even more vulnerability in exposing himself this way, ass in the air, but pleasure outweighs whatever embarrassment comes with it. And Robin is just as gentle as he knew he would be. Trust, he supposes, is what this is.

“Lon’qu, did you miss me? Tell me.”

“…I did.”

Robin moans and licks the shell of his ear.

Body aching from the training session and still shaking from the adrenaline, maybe it’s a blessing to be able to lay down like this, but nothing is happening fast enough. This wait is torture. All Lon’qu can do is push back against the cock inside him.

“Hurry up,” he mutters.

Someone’s playing music in the distance and Lon’qu thinks Olivia might be dancing for them; there’s cheers and applause enough for it. The magnitude of what they’re doing, bringing Naga and the Voice into their affairs, it’s filling everyone with a reckless abandon.

Weight sits against Lon’qu’s back and Robin’s hips press flush against him.  

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” he murmurs, resting his chin on his shoulder. “I’m crazy about you.”

 _And I you_ , Lon’qu wants to say, but it doesn’t come out. The heady scent of massage oil fills the tent until it’s hard to think. Words always fail at the most important times. All he has is what he can do, so he turns his head and kisses Robin as gently as he can, swallowing the moan that pours from his lips.

 

* * *

 

The music picks up pace and what sounds like everyone gathered around the fire claps along in a quick rhythm, drunken laughter covering up any mistakes. In contrast, it’s quieter than ever inside their tent. Robin rests his head against Lon’qu’s chest and traces pictures only he can see against his skin.

“When Chrom first found me,” he starts slowly, “all I had were my tactician skills. It became too easy to base all of who I am around it. It’s my one skill, the one thing I’m good for and the only reason I’m here.”

“Do you not find comfort in that?” Lon’qu threads Robin’s hair through his fingers and lets his eyes drift closed. “You know your role in the world.”

A small breath of laughter ghosts across his skin. “I guess you would think that way. I don’t know. When you and I started getting closer, I… started thinking about more. Started wanting more. The war ended and we had our chance but I realized I had no idea how to get there. I still don’t. It was almost a relief when we got word of the restlessness in the west. War is all I know.” Robin fidgets, moving closer. “What are… what are you going to do when all this ends?”

“I’m returning to Ferox.”

“Hmph… again, such conviction. I love that about you, you know. There’s always so many questions but you’re always so straightforward.”

The song ends and the crowd cheers, but quickly fades so they can all listen to Olivia’s quiet voice. Whatever she says makes them laugh and Chrom says something in response, sounding as proud as ever of his wife and more than a little drunk.

“Come with me.”

It’s almost swallowed by the music starting again. Robin’s hand stops tracing mindless designs; he heard it just fine.

“Come with me to Ferox,” Lon’qu repeats. “You say war is all you know; if so, you’ll not find a more welcoming home. And I – I want you with me.”

The silence in the tent weighs heavy, pressing down on his chest until he can’t breathe.

“Hmm…” With a tired sigh, Robin rolls onto his other side, pulling the blanket up to his chin and trapping Lon’qu’s arm under his head. Already he speaks as if half-asleep. “That sounds nice.”

Heart pounding painfully, Lon’qu watches the shadows move against the ceiling. Right there, it’s decided. Chon’sin has some of the finest jewelers in all of Valm; nothing less would suit Robin’s hand.


End file.
